Sunday, 5 December 2010

SNAP, CRACKLE, POP

Do you ever feel your age, more than just the usual, ‘oh my god how did my ass get three inches lower since last week?’ I’m talking about that moment where suddenly you realize that you are of another generation and there is so much about the new one that you just don’t understand. You find yourself saying things like, “well, when I was young;” or “I will never do such and such, I’m just old school that way;” or “I just don’t get it?” Suddenly the music seems so much louder than it used to be, the ‘youths’ seem unusually boorish, and you find yourself in the corner of a café drinking your four dollar coffee wondering when did the world get so damn expensive, and why are these teenagers leaving the house without their pants on? [As far as I’m concerned, the tights with just a T-shirt trend just looks like they didn’t finish getting dressed].

I have these moments a lot, especially lately, and the problem is, on the inside, I feel young. I can remember high school like it was yesterday. In fact, I’m often tempted to whip out my old mini skirt, bust out a few moves to my old Duran Duran album, and go sneak a cigarette. But sadly if I did, I would probably cough up a lung and pull my back out in mid dance. But the mini-skirt still fits, so there! That must mean something. Sadly however, on the outside, I’m the lady with the baby, I’m the woman those very teens refer to as Mam; I am officially middle aged and I have no clue – nor do I want to – who Justin Bieber is. Oh GOD, when did this happen?

For the most part I try to ignore the whole ageing thing. It’s just a number, so they tell me. But it’s not always easy, especially when one is forced to fill in forms and they ask you to check that little evil box that contains your age group. And you keep thinking please let me stay in this middle box, cause that next one looks so scary. Or when you find yourself eavesdropping on the tights & T-shirts population. The other day in fact, I was at the store and I was forced to listen to the pre-pubescents behind the counter deconstruct X Factor. Who was going to win it, who ‘rocked it,’ who ‘totally sucked.’ I of course, never having watched it, but knowing I knew more than the both of them, wanted to tell them I would bet my life that they all sucked and no one rocked it. I may be older, but I know a few things.

Saying all this, there are many things about my age that I do like…I’m no longer worried about half the things I used to worry about. If people don’t like me, oh well, the door is over there; my face is my face, my body is my body, and Giselle’s legs are never going to magically appear below my torso. Besides, how annoying would it be to shave those things? I don’t have that much time in a given day. Not to mention, I feel secure that I am right where I am supposed to be; gone are the days when I feel trapped in a tornado of emotion, indecision and hormones…okay fine, once a month, I may have a mini tornado, but let’s just say that it doesn’t rip the roof off the house. Saying this, as my back creaks and my knees pop every time I bend to pick up the King, I am slightly envious that he is able to put both his feet into his mouth with no problem. Lucky sod.